Tug of War
by Esanssi
Summary: A potions class mishap sends Severus Snape and his fifth year class into the year 1976, the sixth year of the Marauders. Witness the childish tug of war between two selfish men, one determined to win a foxy redhead he knows is his soul mate, the other willing to do anything in his power to prevent that union while trying to reason his way back into what he hopes is a happy future.


**1995**

Severus Snape felt his lips curl downward. He knew this would add more lines to his face, etching years he had not yet lived into the sallow skin around his mouth. It was a good thing he found physical vanity far too trying to be bothered with. Severus valued intellect. Brains over beauty. Some would say that this was because he had been an ugly child who grew into an uglier adult, but he liked to think he would have preferred his talents to overshadow any kind of attractiveness he could possibly muster.

The reason his frown had intensified had much to do with his surly personality. Longbottom had blown up a simple cure for rashes. While this was not unexpected, Snape was in no mood to clean up the messes of the incompetent. His eyes were dangerous slits as he approached the quivering fifteen year old, spattered in his own green concoction. Granger was hurriedly wiping the liquid off of his face with a white cloth. With each deliberate step Snape took towards them, her voice dropped an octave.

"Oh, Neville, no! You were supposed to stir it _counter clockwise. _Oh, Merlin, Professor Snape is coming!" This last phrase hissed between her chapped lips.

"Miss Granger. I'm not surprised a know-it-all such as yourself would feel it was necessary to correct the mistakes of the dim. However, I must point out it makes you equally insufferable. Five points from Gryffindor for your meddling, and another twenty for Longbottom's inability to touch a potion without some catastrophe befalling my classroom," Snape sneered. Granger was looking down, still wiping Longbottom's pathetically round face.

"And stop trying to mend him yourself. Goyle, escort Longbottom to the Hospital Wing to ensure there is no...lasting damage." His eyes flashed maliciously at Neville, who's hands shook instantly. A nasty grin was plastered on Goyle's face as he yanked Neville up by the arm and dragged him towards the door.

Granger had scurried back to her friends by the time Snape's wand had lazily vanished the mess from the room. He felt as though he was developing a migraine, and assigned an essay on the properties of billywig stings, no less than two feet of parchment.

As the class was dismissed, Severus slumped in his chair and buried his face in his hands. The potion fumes had saturated his hair, making it greasier than usual. He would have to wash it soon.

With a sigh, he started making his way to his chambers. As he trudged desolately through the dungeon, unwanted memories of his own days at Hogwarts slipped between his feet, threatening to trip him. A Slytherin first year ran past him, towards the stairs. He could have been that long haired boy, were it not for the child's exquisitely made robes. No, that boy, who's name Snape could not recall, came from a higher caste. A social calling laid before him. Severus had had to earn any place he ever had. He'd earned his top marks. He'd earned the grudging respect of his more privileged dorm mates. He'd earned his knowledge of the Dark Arts. He'd even earned the writhing black stain on his forearm, the blood burning curse he'd stupidly taken as a sign of prestige. Most importantly, he'd earned his place as Dumbledore's favorite errand boy, in the name of earning some redemption. He didn't think he had quite yet.

Cringing, Severus shook that train of thought out of his head. He didn't need to start thinking about what he needed redemption for. A whisper of silky dark red and sorrowful deep green, asking why...He didn't need any of that tonight. He didn't fancy teaching his second years with a hangover tomorrow morning.

When he reached the entrance to his private chamber, he let the portrait of an irritable old witch thud close with an ominous finality. He'd reached his only reprieve; sleep.

**1976**

James Potter awoke with his usual mischievous smirk plastered to his face. He had plans today. Evans would be at breakfast early today. He knew this because she had a test in Transfiguration today, and on test days Lily always ate before the sun had quite peaked over the lake, to allow herself additional studying afterwards. This meant she would be alone, in a mostly-empty hall, just _waiting _to be wooed.

Of course, she did not exactly, _want _to be wooed. Not by James, anyways. But he had picked her out, and his devotion to her had developed into a rather unhealthy obsession. She was stubborn. She was smart. She was kind. She had a sense of humor. She was devastatingly beautiful, especially for a girl of sixteen. These were really the only things James knew about her, if he were being honest with himself. He was certain he could and would love her as he claimed to, if given the chance. There was already so much potential there for them. She was a challenge to him, and James Potter had never backed down from a challenge.

He heaved himself out of bed. Sirius gave a sleepy grunt from his own bed. Hazel eyes gleaming, James put a warming charm on the glass of water he had had next to his bed the previous night and slipped Sirius's sleep-foggy hand into it. Trying not to snort, he ruffled his hair and scuttled out of the dormitory.

On his way to the Great Hall, James thought of Lily. He must've analyzed their situation thousands of times. It was always on his mind. He felt so much closer than he'd ever been. Since Lily and Snivellus had a falling out last year (which he would gleefully admit was his doing) she'd been warming up to him, little by little. Probably because he'd been trying to bully less obviously in front of her. She'd lost her best friend, and was vulnerable. James felt uncomfortable with the notion that her vulnerability would cause him to take advantage of her good will. He didn't think that was what he was doing, but he was sure others would disagree. But hey, if that greasy bat hadn't called her that bloody _unforgivable _word, they might still be friends. James hadn't made him insult her like that.

Stepping through the massive doors, he saw her. His Lily Flower. Her dark red hair, the color of ripe raspberries, was looped in a messy bun at the nape of her slender, freckled neck. James stepped lightly, his footsteps echoing as he padded towards her. Surprised at the sudden sound, she looked up, her eyebrow raised critically.

"Potter. I didn't know you knew this time of day existed, unless you happened to accidentally stumble into it after a night of excessive firewhiskey," she commented dryly.

James's heart leapt. Although she may have sounded condescending, it was almost banter. He'd never gotten past her icy insults before. She had even called him Potter, instead of Unbearable Toerag. He'd gotten so used to that name he almost wrote it at the top of a couple of assignments last year.

"What can I say, Lily-Pad? Dreaming of you can only leave a man with so many hours of sleep," he replied cheekily.

She rolled her lovely, almond eyes. "Shove it, Toerag. I haven't got the time to listen to you beg for a date today. I've got a test. And honestly, if you plan on asking me to Hogsmeade again, I'm going to go ahead and say no."

James leaned forward and brushed a wayward wisp of hair off of her face. She went slightly pink. Interesting. Not to mention exhilarating. Grasping for something clever to say, he decided on some brash pleading wrapped nicely in a joke. "Is that your final answer, Miss Evans?" She was muggleborn, she must know about those stupid "game shows" that permeated muggle entertainment. His eyes bore into hers, an uncharacteristic seriousness shrouding his handsome face.

Her stony face faltered, before hardening right back up. "Not if my only other choice was Nott."

Ouch, that one hurt. James dramatically clutched his chest in mock pain, feeling a bit disgruntled. He didn't understand why she was so against dating him. He knew he was good with girls, they tried to have a go at him all the time. He knew he was funny and likable. Most girls would be drooling to talk to him, but Evans was immune. More than that, she was repelled. It may have been childish to put all his stock in a girl just because she _didn't _fall at his feet, but it excited him. She was a prize at the end of a difficult battle, and James liked to win.


End file.
